MAKING DISCOVERIES.
"Will you grant me leave of absence for to-day?" Charles Hardy asked Mr.
Sanders, a few minutes after George had left the office, on the gloomy
and eventful morning when he disclosed the secret of his guilt.
"I hardly know what to say--what to do," answered Mr. Sanders, puffing
and blowing; "business will come to a stand-still--the shutters had
better go up at once. But if you want particularly to be off to-day, I
suppose I must manage to spare you."
"I may want several days, sir; but if that should be the case, I will
return to the office to-morrow in time to see Mr. Compton immediately he
comes back"
It was but the work of five minutes for Charles to write a short note,
change his office coat, and prepare to start The note was addressed to
Mr. Brunton, care of Mr. Sanders till called for, and ran as follows:--
"MY DEAR SIR,
"Do not be more uneasy than necessary about George. I think I have a
clue by which his address may be ascertained. If so, I will report
progress to you to-night; but I leave this note for you, in order to
allay the distress you will feel in learning he is not here. Rest
assured of my earnest desire to serve my dear friend, and to relieve
him if possible. My time and services you may command in this cause.
In haste,
"Yours very faithfully,
"CHARLES HARDY."
Hardy had a clue, it is true; but it was a very faint one. He had
noticed, upon the table of Mr. Compton's room, a "Bradshaw's Railway
Guide;" and as he had not seen one there previously, he imagined it must
have been brought in by George, with his carpet-bag and other things,
and there left. One page of the book was turned down; Hardy had eagerly
opened it, and found it referred to the departures from the Great
Western Station.
"I'll go on at once to that station," he thought. "He told me he might
be leaving England; perhaps he has gone to Liverpool, Plymouth, or Cork,
or some shipping place that can be reached by this line. At all events,
I have no other chance but this."
With all speed Charles drove off to Paddington. Diligently he conned
over the intricate mysteries of "Bradshaw" as he journeyed along,
endeavouring to ascertain when trains would be leaving for any of the
places to which he had imagined his friend might be going. It is hardly
necessary to say he could not find what he wanted; but his anxiety and
suspense were relieved by the search.
Before alighting at the station, Hardy carefully glanced all around to
ascertain that George was not in sight; for it was not his intention to
speak to him or endeavour to turn him from his purpose, knowing that, in
his present excited state he would stand no chance whatever of
frustrating his friend's plans, but would rather be adopting the most
certain means of destroying his own. Hardy's present object was only to
try and find out to what part George would travel, and then communicate
with Mr. Brunton and get his advice how to proceed.
Cautiously he walked along the platform, looking into every
waiting-room, and making inquiries of the porters it they had seen any
one answering to the description he gave of George. This course proving
futile, he went to the ticket-office, and consulted a time-table, to
find whether any train had recently left for any of the places which, he
felt convinced, were the most probable for George to choose. An hour or
two had elapsed since the last train left, and George had not had more
than twenty minutes' start ahead of him. He took down in his pocket-book
the time for the departure of the next train; and then choosing a
secluded spot in the office, where he would be out of observation, and
yet able to see all who came up for tickets, he waited patiently until
the slow, dawdling hand of the clock neared the hour.
Hardy felt the chances were fifty to one that while he was waiting there
George might be at some other station, leaving London without a trace to
his whereabouts; he thought whether, after all, George might not have
purposely, instead of accidentally, left the "Bradshaw" with that
particular page turned down, in order that, should he be sought, a wrong
scent might be given; and even if he intended to travel by this line and
to one of these particular places, might he not choose nighttime as the
most desirable for his object? But Hardy had _purpose_ in him; he would
not throw away the strongest clue he had, although that was faint, and
he resolved to stay there until midnight, it need be, rather than
abandon his design,
His patience was not put to such a test as this. While he was standing,
with palpitating heart, behind that door in the booking office, George
was in the porters' room, not a hundred yards off, waiting with deeper
anxiety for the clock to point to the hour when the train should start.
Presently, the first bell rang. A number of people, with bags and
packages in hand, came crowding up to the ticket office, but George was
not there. Hardy could scarcely refrain from rushing out to look around.
What if he should get into a train without a ticket, or send a guard to
procure one for him? A hundred doubts and fears were pressing upon him,
and--the second bell rang. Two or three minutes more, and the train
would be off. At the moment he was consulting his pocket-book to see how
long a time must elapse before the next train would leave, he started
with joyful surprise to see George walk hurriedly up to the office and
obtain a ticket. As hurriedly he disappeared. "Now is my chance,"
thought Hardy.
"Where did that young man take his ticket for?" he asked the clerk, as
soon as he had elbowed his way past the few remaining persons who were
before the window.
"Which one?" said he; "two or three young men have just taken tickets."
"I mean the last ticket but one you issued?"
"Plymouth."
"Hurrah!" cried Hardy, to the astonishment of the clerk, who probably
would not have given the information, had he not thought the inquirer
wanted a ticket for the same place.
Hardy was too cautious, even in the moment of his surprise, to let his
object be lost by over-haste; he knew it would not be wise to let
himself be seen, and though he longed to rush after George and say,
"Good-bye, cheer up, old chap!" he only allowed himself the painful
pleasure of looking through the window of a waiting-room, and seeing his
old friend and chum, sad and solitary, get into the carriage. Shriek
went the whistle, and away went the train. Whether it whizzed along so
rapidly, or the smoke and steam enveloped it, or from whatever cause it
was, Charles Hardy found his sight growing dimmer, until a mist shut out
the scene.
From the station Hardy went home. He wanted to tell his parents some of
the occurrences of the day, and let them know of his expected absence.
He knew that he had difficulties to meet. George had always been kindly
received by Mr. and Mrs. Hardy; they both liked him, and were glad when
he came to spend an evening at their house. But latterly they had been
rather anxious about the growing intimacy between him and their son, and
often had a word of caution been given that Charles should be very
careful how far he allowed his friend to influence him.
Now Hardy could only tell his parents that George had got into worse
trouble than ever--such trouble that he was obliged to leave his
situation, and had decamped, no one except himself knew where. Of course
Mr. and Mrs. Hardy would not put a good construction upon the affair. He
anticipated they would say, "Well, I always feared he would come to
this;" and would try to dissuade Charles from having anything more to do
with him. It was not to be expected they would look with such leniency
upon the matter as he would. Therefore, it was with no small difficulty
he proceeded, immediately upon reaching home, to tell them of what had
occurred. It was a short story, and soon told.
"Now, father," said Hardy, before allowing him time to bring objections
to the part he had performed that day, "I have promised Mr. Brunton to
assist in finding George, and I have told Mr. Sanders I may be away some
days from the office. I know Mr. Compton will not object to this; if
that is all, I can have this leave of absence instead of the holiday he
promised me next mouth. George must be found; if I can help it, he shall
not leave England--at all events, not in this way. I know it will kill
Mrs. Weston, if he does."
"Well, Charles, I know your kindheartedness, and I appreciate it; but I
cannot give my consent to the plan. Recollect, by associating yourself
with your former friend now, you do injury to yourself; he has got
himself into disgrace--he must bear the burden of it. What will Mr.
Compton think, when he hears that you--you who have always maintained
such strict integrity--have gone off after a dishonest, runaway clerk?"
"I never wish to run counter to your opinions, father, if I can help it;
but I must do so now, George Weston is my friend--not _was_ my friend,
as you said just now--and I would not act such a cowardly part as to
desert him. Don't be vexed at what I say; I know you advise for my good;
but you do not know how I feel in this matter. Suppose our positions
were changed, and I had done as George has done--there is no
impossibility in such a case--I am too weak against temptation to doubt
that had I been placed in the circumstances similar to his, I might have
done the same, Suppose I had, what would you have thought of me? Should
I have been your dishonest, runaway son, to whom all friendship must be
denied, and who might be left to bear any burden alone, because I had
brought it upon myself? No, father; you would be the first to seek and
comfort me, and the first to cry 'Shame!' upon any of my friends who
turned and kicked me the moment I had fallen."
Mr. Hardy could not resist the force of his son's argument, nor could he
refrain from admiring the genuineness of his friendship for George, and
the manly determination he had formed to assist him.
"Well, Charles," he said, "I do not blame you for taking this course. I
hope it may be serviceable to your friend, and without any injury to
yourself."
"Do not fear, father. And now I must pack up a few necessaries in my
bag, and be off to Mr. Brunton's. If I do not return home to-morrow, do
not be uneasy about me, and I will write to you every day to say how
things are going on."
When Hardy arrived at the house of Mr. Brunton, he found him, as he
anticipated, in a high state of nervous anxiety.
"I am so thankful you have arrived, Mr. Hardy," he said, shaking him
warmly by the hand: "and I need not tell you Mrs. Weston has been
waiting with great impatience to see you."
"Mrs. Weston! is she here?"
"Yes; not many minutes after you had left the office I called there, and
received the sad news about--about George. I at once telegraphed to Mrs.
Weston to come up to town, and it needed no urging to hasten her, for
she had only a short time before received a letter from him, which had
filled her with alarm. But let us go to her at once," said Mr. Brunton,
leading the way to the drawing-room; "she entreated I would bring you to
her the moment you arrived."
As Hardy entered, Mrs. Weston sprang to meet him.
"Have you found George?--where is he?" she asked, and the look of
struggling hope and despair was touching to witness.
"I have not found him, Mrs. Weston, but I know the place of his present
destination. He has gone to Plymouth;" and then Hardy briefly explained
the incidents of the morning.
"I cannot tell you how thankful I am to you, Mr. Hardy," said Mrs.
Weston, as he concluded. "May God bless you for your kindness to my pool
George!"
"George would have done more for me, Mrs. Weston," Hardy replied; "but,
at present, little or nothing has been done. Have you any plans, and can
I help you in them?"
"We must go on as soon as possible to Plymouth, and find out where he
is. He may perhaps be on the eve of starting away by some of the vessels
in the port. Not a minute should be lost."
"Then, sir, I will go down to Plymouth by the mail train which leaves in
about a couple of hours, if you will let me; and I promise you that I
will do my best to find him," said Hardy.
This unexpected proposition removed an infinite burden from Mr.
Brunton's mind. He felt that it was his duty to see Mr. Compton at once,
and he had other engagements which made it impossible for him to leave
that night. He did not like Mrs. Weston travelling alone, in her present
anxious and desponding state, and had been at his wit's end all day to
know how to manage.
"But, Mr. Hardy, can you go? Have you consulted your friends at home?
Can you manage to get leave of absence from the office?--remember they
will be short of hands there," asked Mr. Brunton.
"I have made all arrangements at home, sir and my only difficulty is
about Mr. Compton. But if you will please see him as soon as he returns,
and explain why I have left, I am sure he will not be displeased. He was
so fond of George, I know he would have said 'Go, by all means,' had he
been at home."
"I will undertake to set the matter right with him about you," said Mr.
Brunton; "but I doubt whether he will ever allow me to mention poor
George's name. Oh! Hardy, this is a sad, sad business!"
"It is, sir; but it is sadder for George than for his friends," replied
Hardy. "I cannot bear to think of the trouble he is passing through at
this moment. It has cost him much to take the step he has taken, and
everything must be done to get him back from his voluntary banishment"
"And everything shall be done that can," said Mr. Brunton. "God grant he
is still in England! I feel sure the sight of his mother and his friends
sorrowing for him, instead of turning against him as he supposes, will
alter his determination."
"Mr. Hardy, may I place myself under your protection until my brother
joins us at Plymouth?" said Mrs. Weston, abruptly. "I will go down by
the mail train to-night; I cannot rest until he is found."
Arrangements were speedily made, and that night the train bore off Mrs.
Western and Charles Hardy to Plymouth.
On the following morning Mr. Brunton called at Falcon-court. Mr. Compton
had not yet arrived, but was expected hourly. Not wishing to lose time,
which that morning was particularly precious to him, he asked for some
writing materials, and seating himself in Mr. Compton's room, intended
to occupy himself until his arrival. After he had been there about
half-an-hour, his attention was arrested by hearing the door of the
clerk's office open, and an inquiry made.
"Is Mr. George Weston here?"
"Mr. Weston has left the office," answered Williams, who came forward to
answer the inquiry. "Left yesterday morning."
"Indeed! Where has he gone to? why did he leave?"
"I don't think anyone knows where he has gone to," answered Williams;
"and I am not disposed to say why he left."
Williams did not know why he had left, nor were the circumstances of the
case known to any of the clerks; but many surmises had been made which
were unfavourable to him, and it was with the exultant pleasure a mean
spirit feels in a mean triumph, that Williams had at last an opportunity
of speaking lightly of the once good name of George Weston, to whom he
had ever cherished feelings of animosity.
"Is Mr. Compton in, or the manager?" asked the visitor. "I am
exceedingly anxious to know what has become of my friend."
"Between ourselves," said Williams, "the less you say about your friend
the better. It strikes me--mind, I merely give you this confidentially
as my impression--that, when Weston turns up again, his friends will not
be over-anxious to renew their acquaintance."
"What do you mean? I do not understand you."
"What I mean is this. When a clerk is dismissed from an office during
the absence of the principal, leaves suddenly and has to hide
himself--more particularly when accounts at the banker's do not quite
balance--one cannot help thinking there is a screw loose somewhere."
Mr. Brunton overheard all this; he who had never before heard an
unfavourable sentence spoken against his nephew. He had not fully
realised until that moment the painful position in which George's crime
had placed him, nor the depth of his nephew's fall in position and
character. He longed to have been able to stand up in vindication of
George against the terrible insinuations of Williams; he would have been
intensely thankful if he could have accosted the stranger, and said,
"That man is guilty of falsehood who dares to speak against the good
name of my nephew." But there he stood, with blood boiling and lips
quivering, unable to contradict one sentence that had been uttered.
"If Weston _does_ turn up," continued Williams, "will you leave any
message or letter, or your name, and it shall be forwarded?"
"My name is Ashton," said the stranger; "but it is unnecessary to say
that I called. It does not do to be mixed up with matters like these. I
half feared something of the sort was brewing, but I had no idea tilings
would have taken so sudden a turn."
Mr. Brunton could restrain his impatience no longer.
"Mr. Ashton," he said, coming suddenly upon the speakers, "will you
favour me by stepping inside a minute or two? I shall be glad to speak
to you."
Ashton was taken by surprise at seeing Mr. Brunton where he least
expected to see him.
"I have been placed in the uncomfortable position of a listener to your
conversation in the next room," said Mr. Brunton, closing the door; "and
I cannot allow those remarks made by the clerk with whom you were
talking to pass unqualified."
"They need little explanation, sir," said Ashton. "George Weston has
been on the verge of a catastrophe for some months, and I believe I can
fill in the outline of information which you heard given me."
"I am in ignorance of the causes which have led to my nephew's
disgrace," answered Mr. Brunton; "nor am I desirous to hear them from
any lips but his. You were one of his most intimate friends, I believe,
Mr. Ashton?"
"Yes; I think I may say his most intimate friend."
"And you knew he was on the 'verge of a catastrophe.' I have no doubt
you acted the part of a friend, and sought to turn his steps from the
fatal brink?"
"Well, as to that, he was fully competent to manage his own affairs
without my interference. I did tell him he would come to grief, if he
did not give up playing."
"And did you add to that advice that he should quit those associates
who had assisted to bring him to such a pass?"
"Certainly not; why should I meddle with him in his companionships? You
speak, Mr. Brunton, as if I were your nephew's keeper. If George Weston
liked to live beyond his means, he was at liberty to do it for me. I am
sorry he made such a smash at last, but it is all that could be
expected. If ever you see George again, sir, you will oblige me by
conveying one message. I did not think when he came to me, two nights
ago, to try and borrow a hundred pounds, that he intended to mix me up
in any disgraceful business like that of this morning. Had I known it,
instead of fretting myself about his welfare, he should have--"
"Made the discovery," interrupted Mr. Brunton, "that he never had a
friend in you. My idea of a friend is one who seeks the well-being of
another; speaks to him as a second conscience in temptation; loves with
a strength of attachment which cannot be broken; and, though sorrowing
over error, can still hope and pray for and seek to restore the erring.
Mr. Ashton, I do not wish to say more upon this matter; it is painful
for me to think how my nephew has been led downward, step after step, by
those whom he thought friends, and how sinfully he has yielded. When
you think of him, recollect him as the boy you knew at school, and try
to trace his course down to this day. You know his history, his
companionships, his whole life. Think whether _you_ have influenced it,
and how; and if your conscience should say, 'I have not been his
friend,' may you be led by the remembrance to consider that no man
liveth to himself: and that for those talents and attractions with which
you are endowed, you will have hereafter to give account, together with
the good or evil which has resulted from them."
To Ashton's relief the door opened, and Mr. Compton entered. Hastily
taking up his hat, he bade adieu to Mr. Brunton, glad of this
opportunity to beat a retreat.
"Confound those Methodists!" he uttered to himself, as he walked up
Fleet-street; "speak to them, they talk sermons; strike them, and they
defend themselves with sermons; cut them to the quick, and I believe
they would bleed sermons. But why should he pounce upon me? What have I
done? A pretty life George would have led if it hadn't been for me, and
this is all the thanks I get. I wish to goodness he had not made such a
fool of himself; I shall have to answer all inquiries about him, and it
is no honour to be linked in such associations."
The meeting between Mr. Compton and Mr. Brunton was one of mingled
feelings of pain and mortification. One had lost a valuable clerk, for
whom he cherished more than ordinary feelings of regard, and upon whom
he had hoped some day the whole management of the business would
devolve; the other had lost almost all that was dear to him on earth,
one whom he had watched, and loved, and worked for, and to whose bright
future he had looked forward with increasing pleasure, until it had
become a dream of life. Both were aggrieved, both were injured; but both
felt, in their degree, such strong feelings in favour of George, despite
his disgrace and crime, that they could look with more sorrow than anger
on the offender, and deal more in kindness than in wrath.
Mr. Compton could not but agree with Mr. Brunton that he must be
discovered, if possible; and although he could never receive him under
any circumstances into his office again, nor could ever have for him the
feelings he once entertained, still he felt free to adhere to his first
determination not to prosecute or take any steps in the case, nor allow
it to have more publicity than could be helped.
"He is still young," said he; "let him try to redeem the past. But it
is right he should feel the consequences of his actions, and no doubt he
will, as he has to encounter the difficulties which will meet him in
seeking to retrieve the position he has lost. You know me too well,
Brunton, to imagine that I do not estimate aright the extent of his
guilt; and you will give me credit for possessing a desire to do as I
would be done by in this case. I believe many a young man has been
ruined through time and eternity, by having been dealt with too
harshly--though in a legal sense quite justly; at the same time it has
been the only course to check a growing habit of crime in others. I know
well that in some instances it would be a duty to prosecute, if only as
a protection from suspicion of upright persons. But there are
exceptional cases, and I consider this to be one of them, although
perhaps many of our leading citizens might think me culpable in my
clemency; but I think I know your nephew sufficiently well to be
warranted in the belief that he feels his criminality, and will take a
lasting warning from this circumstance. And now, what do you intend to
do, since you know my determination?"
Mr. Brunton explained the plans he had formed, and the valuable
assistance which Hardy had rendered him. He was pleased to hear from his
injured friend the heartily expressed wish that the end in view might be
accomplished. Mr. Brunton had surmounted one great difficulty, and he
could not feel sufficiently thankful at the issue. Although he had known
Mr. Compton for many years, and had seen innumerable evidences of his
benevolence and good nature, he knew, too, that he was the very
personification of honesty and uprightness; and he dreaded lest,
incensed against George for his ingratitude, and fearing the influence
of his conduct might spread in the office, he would take measures
against him which, although perfectly just, would, by their severity,
prove deeply injurious in such a case, and reduce George, who was
naturally sensitive of shame, to a position from which he might never be
restored.
At the very earliest opportunity Mr. Brunton went down to Plymouth.
Business of the greatest importance, which he could not set aside, had
detained him in London until Friday, and his uneasiness had been
increased during that time by two notes he had received--one from Mrs.
Weston, and the other from Hardy--telling him of the unsuccessful issue
of their search. With an anxious heart he alighted at the station at
Plymouth, and walked to the hotel, where his sister and Hardy were
staying. The look of despair he read in Mrs. Weston's countenance, as
they met, told him that no favourable result had been obtained.
"We have been everywhere, and tried every possible plan to find poor
George," she said, when Mr. Brunton sat down beside her and Hardy to
hear the recital of their efforts. "I should have broken down long ago,
had it not been for our dear friend here, who has been night and day at
work, plotting schemes and working them out, and buoying me up with
hopes in their result. But I feel sure George cannot be in Plymouth, and
our search is vain."
"So Mrs. Weston has said all along," said Hardy; "but I cannot agree
with her; at all events, I will not believe it until we find out where
he has gone. He has not taken a passage in any of the vessels, as far as
we can ascertain; he is not in any of the inns in the town, I think, for
we have made the most searching inquiries at all of them; but in this
large place it is difficult to find any one without some positive clue."
"Have you been able to find out whether he really arrived here?" asked
Mr. Brunton.
"I think I have. One of the porters rather singularly recollected a
person, answering to the description, arriving by the train in which
George left London. It seems he was hastening away from the station
without giving up his ticket No doubt he was nervous and absent in mind;
and when the porter called to him, he started and seemed as if he were
alarmed: but in a minute he produced his ticket and went out The porter
looked suspiciously, I suppose, at the ticket, and evidently so at
George, for he was able to give a full description of him."
"That is so far satisfactory," said Mr. Brunton; "but have you made any
more discoveries to render you tolerably sure he is still in Plymouth."
"Yes, I have been to every shop where they fit out passengers for a sea
voyage, and have found out one where he purchased some articles of
clothing. But the clearest trace I have of him is from the shipping
agents. He was certainly looking over vessels on the morning after his
arrival here, for one or two captains have described him to me. I have
been a great many times down among the shipping, but have not made more
discoveries, and I cannot get any information from the shipping offices;
but in this you will probably meet with more success, sir, than I have,
for a young man is not of sufficient importance to command attention
from business men."
Mr. Brunton was fully conscious of the difficulties which were in the
way of finding George, even supposing he was still in Plymouth: but he
was not without hope. He could not find words enough to express his
strong approbation of all that Hardy had done, and he felt sure that he
could have no better assistant in the undertaking than he. A series of
plans were soon formed: Hardy was to keep watch upon those vessels which
he thought it probable George might choose, and offer rewards to sailors
and others for information. Mr. Brunton was to try and discover the
names and descriptions of passengers booked at the shipping offices; and
Mrs. Weston was to keep a general lookout on outfitters' warehouses, and
other places where it might be probable George would visit.
But every plan failed. Saturday night came, and, worn out with fatigue,
the anxious trio sat together to discuss the incidents of the day, and
propose fresh arrangements for the morrow. Sunday was not a day of rest
to them; from early morning they were all engaged in different
directions in prosecuting their search, and not until the curtain of
night was spread over the town, and the hum of traffic and din of bustle
had ceased, did they return to the hotel.
After supper, Mr. Brunton took out his pocket Bible, and read aloud some
favourite passages. They seemed to speak with a voice of hope and
comfort, and inspired fresh faith in the unerring providence of Him who
doeth all things well.
Very earnest were the prayers offered by that little party, as they
knelt together and commended the wanderer, wherever he might be, to the
care and guidance of the good providence of God. They felt how useless
were all plans and purposes unless directed by a higher source than
their own; and while they prayed for success upon the efforts put forth,
if in accordance with His will, they asked for strength and resignation
to bear disappointment Nor were their prayers merely that he whom they
were seeking might be found, but that he might find pardon and
acceptance with God, and that the evil which they lamented might, in the
infinitely wise purposes of Providence, be controlled for good.
With fresh zeal and renewed hope the three set forth on the following
morning to prosecute their several plans. Hardy had learned that one or
two vessels would sail that day, and he was full of expectation that he
might meet with some tidings.
Mr. Brunton felt rather unwell that morning--the press of business which
had detained him in London, the excitement of the journey, and the
fatigue of the previous days, had told upon his health. As he was
passing through a quiet part of the town, he called in at an
apothecary's to get a draught, which he hoped might ward off any serious
attack of sickness. While the draught was being prepared, Mr. Brunton,
who was intent upon his object and never left a stone unturned,
interrogated the apothecary, a gentlemanly and agreeable man, upon the
neighbourhood, the number of visitors in that locality, and other
subjects, ending by saying he was trying to discover the residence of a
relative, but without any knowledge of his address.
In the midst of the conversation, a servant-girl, without bonnet or
shawl, came hurriedly into the shop, out of breath with running.
"Oh, sir, if you please, sir, missus says, will you come at once to see
the young gentleman as stays at our house?--he's taken bad."
"Who is your mistress, my girl?" asked the chemist.
"Oh, sir, it's Mrs. Murdoch, of ---- Street; and the young gentleman is
a lodger from London, and he's going away to-morrow to the Indies or
somewheres; but do come, sir, please--missus'll be frightened to death,
all by herself, and him so dreadful bad."
Mr. Brunton had been an anxious listener. Was it possible that the young
gentleman from London could be George?
"How long has your lodger been with you?" he asked the girl.
"A week come Wednesday--leastways, come Tuesday night,"--was the
accurate answer.
Mr. Brunton, with eyes flashing with excitement, turned to the medical
man. "Will you allow me to accompany you on this visit?" he asked; "I
have reason to believe that your patient may be the relative for whom I
am searching."
"Then come, by all means," answered the doctor; and, preceded by the
girl, who was all impatience to get home, and kept up a pace which made
Mr. Brunton puff lustily, they reached the house of Mrs. Murdoch.